All For Believing
by LaVioleBlanche
Summary: In the chaotic beginning of the stitchpunks' lives, 5 and 6 become close. Yeah, summaries aren't really my strong point. Currently T, may become M later.
1. Nice To See Ya, To See Ya Nice

Wheeeeee 5/6 lovins! They are funtimes. I enjoy them. Hopefully you enjoy them also! If not, why are you reading this? WHY???? *ahem*

All of these here characturrs is belongin' to Shane Acker!

5 shifted on his makeshift bed and opened his optic. Something had woken him; some noise other than the distant heartbeat of machinery and explosions. Without rising, he glanced around the upside-down garbage can that he and his fellow stitchpunks had taken shelter under. 7 rested fitfully next to the jagged crack that was their exit, the sharpened bottle opener she'd taken to carrying cradled in her arms. 8 snored, sprawled out on the other side of the 'door'. 1 slept on the neatly folded pile of dinner napkins 8 had set up against a wall for him. 2 had dozed off nestled on top of a dusty felt beret, the twins on either side of- hang on, where were the twins?

5 started to sit up, scanning the area again. Nope. 3 and 4 had vanished. Again.

_Clink_

Again came the muffled sound of movement, close by somewhere. Frowning, 5 started to turn, to climb out of his bed, and was greeted by two pairs of flashing optics right in front of him. He yelped and tumbled backwards, landing heavily on his burlap rear. The twins' optics strobed with silent laughter.

"Yeah, yeah. What do you guys want? 1's gonna be mad if he wakes up," 5 tried to scold, but the words only came out as mildly irritated and mostly amused.

3 and 4 abruptly ceased their light-up giggles and scuttled forward to pull urgently at his hands, pointing at the exit. He blinked.

"What? You want me to go out there? This late? It's dangerous. What's this about?"

4 crouched and projected a flickering image on the compact dirt floor: _**6**_

"Wha…S-Six? But-" 5's brow furrowed. "Y-you mean you… found number 6?"

The pair nodded hastily and tugged at his hands again. He sighed and stood up, following them silently past the sleeping guardians and out into the cold night.

_Earlier That Day…._

The ragged band of stitchpunks ran for cover as yet another mortar blasted the roof off a building, sending human bodies screaming through the air.

7 located a space big enough for all of them under a porch, the house behind it a cold, charred wreck. Together they crouched in temporary safety, waiting for the machines to pass. Suddenly the warrior's head turned and she cried out above the din:

"Where are the twins?!"

2 and 5 looked around in alarm. 8 lifted each foot and checked the bottom to be sure he had not accidentally stepped on the little ones. 1 huffed disdainfully.

"Probably destroyed in the explosion. Or caught out there under a rock. Either way, they won't last long."

"NO!" 7 leapt up and snatched her weapon, running out from under the porch and back into the chaos.

"7! Wait!" 2 ran after her, 5 following closely. 1 and 8 hesitated, but hurried after them when a round of shells hit the ground behind the porch.

7 dove down as shrapnel flew by overhead. To her right, she spotted two sets of tiny footprints that trailed off toward a skeletal wooden structure. She jumped to her feet and sprinted toward the construct, the others hot on her heels. Inside the structure, 3 and 4 huddled behind a support, examining a large plane of cardboard and paper they'd propped up. 7 came running up, throwing herself behind a wooden plank and ducking down as the others fell in alongside her. She turned, panting, to stare at the twins.

"You-you guys are- you're alright?" She knelt in front of them, touching their hooded heads. They nodded.

"What on earth were you thinking, running off like that?"

The little beings pointed to the object they'd been perusing. It had strange markings on it. At the top it said "DEC". Under that it said, "Sun, Mon, Tues, Wed, Thurs, Fri, Sat".

"Huh," was all 5 managed. 8 frowned and tilted his head. 1 exploded.

"You little idiots! What possessed you to-"

"1, look," 2 interrupted. "It's _us_."

Surprisingly, the leader did pause and glance up at the twins' discovery. It said:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

After that the page was torn away.

"Hmph," 1 groused, but the others ignored him, still staring.

After a moment, 5 spoke up hesitantly.

"Well- there's me- and there's you, 7. But what's that one? There's one between us that I've never seen."

"That's, um… _Six_," 7 said absently.

"It's on there twice," 8 grunted. Everyone turned to look at him, then back to the paper.

"No, no," 2 said kindly. "That's Nine. It's a different number, it just resembles 6 upside-down. Hmm…" He tapped his chin. "I wonder if this means there's more…"

"Can't be. There are only eight of us," snapped 1.

"Well, then, where's 6?" 5 asked, reaching up to touch the number next to his.

"How should I know? Probably dead if we haven't found them yet," 1 replied dismissively.

"I hope not," The one-eyed stitchpunk murmured, running his finger down the curve of the new number.

(^_^) (_) Later…

"Wait up!" 5 hissed at the pair of scurrying shapes ahead of him. They paused for a fraction of a second before racing forward once more. 5 rolled his eye and jogged faster after them.

It was so dark that when 3 and 4 stopped dead 5 almost tripped over them. He pulled up sharply and avoided collision, sputtering in indignation. They glanced back at him, then pointed to a rusted metal pipe that jutted from the ground in front of them. He blinked his one optic and edged anxiously over to the dark tunnel. He peered over the edge but couldn't see to the bottom. Shaking his head, he turned back to them.

"I-I can't see anything. I don't-"

3's optics lit up, illuminating the pipe fully. It went about eight feet straight down into the earth like a well. At the bottom was a hunched figure, dirty and disheveled. It was striped, and had a patch of tangled yarn atop its down-turned head. 5 could just make out the number scrawled on its back.

'6!" The one-eyed being called down. He saw the figure flinch and glance quickly up at him and away.

_Must've fallen down there and gotten trapped_. 5's sympathetic heart twinged at the thought. _I wonder how long he's been stuck down there. Poor guy._

"Okay. Uh," he looked back at the twins, then at the surrounding area. "Um, let's see…" He grabbed a length of sturdy twine and began lowering it into the hole. "Grab on; we'll pull you up!" He shouted when he saw 6 look up at the string. "Guys, I'm gonna need your help-"

3 and 4 darted forward and grabbed on to the end of the cord. 5 glanced down the pipe again and realized that the striped stitchpunk had actually shrunk away from the lifeline, clutching himself in fear. 5 frowned, confused.

"C'mon!" He called encouragingly. "Grab hold of it!"

6 only looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"It's okay, grab on," 5 smiled. "You don't wanna stay down there, do you?"

The stranger shuddered and, after another moment of hesitation, gripped the twine, digging in his sharp fingers. 5 and the twins hauled on the line, pulling him upward. The one-eyed stitchpunk was surprised by how easy it was; this new being seemed to weigh very little. With a final effort, the striped creature tumbled out of the pit and onto the ground at 5's feet.

"There we go!" 5 said cheerfully. "That's better, huh? I'm 5, this is 3 and 4." Smiling, he bent down to help, but 6 stumbled back, scuttling away on his rump, his mismatched optics wide. 5's brow furrowed in confusion and he took a step toward the odd stitchpunk, who continued to back away.

"What's wrong? Is it the eye? I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise. I'd never-" He glanced at the twins, looking for help. They shrugged, optics flashing. He sighed and turned back to 6, who had pressed himself against the wall of a nearby house, still staring fearfully at his rescuers.

"It's okay, really. You're safe now. Come with us; we can take care of you. There's a bunch of us and- oh, you're hurt!"

6 clutched his left side, where a ragged tear had been opened, and held up his other hand as if to ward off a blow or fend away a predator. 5 shook his head.

"No, no, I'm not gonna _hit_ you; I want to help. Come back with us, 'kay?" He offered a hand, noticing that the stranger's fingers seemed odd. Pointed and silver. He was small, too, maybe as small as 3 or 4.

6 paused and glanced up at 5's kind, smiling face. He slowly tilted his outstretched hand, reaching for 5's. Suddenly his face changed, his stitched bows coming together in consternation. He grabbed his head, tangling those strange fingers in his mop of hair, as his expression turned to one of horror and agony. He shook violently, rocking in place. 3, 4, and 5 immediately hurried forward in concern, 5 leaning down to touch 6's shoulder.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

6 gasped and shoved 5's hand away, scrambling to his feet and stumbling away with a look of terror. Before 5 could react, the bizarre stitchpunk had scrambled over the low wall and disappeared.

"Wait-" 5 started to call, but it was too late. He sighed in frustration and turned back to the twins. "Well," he shrugged. "I…I guess we should go back? Y'know… get some rest."

3 and 4 nodded glumly. The trio started for the shelter, the twins occasionally scampering off to examine something. Halfway there, 5 heard a faint scuffling sound behind him. He glanced back over his shoulder just in time to spot a figure dart back into the shadows cast by the ruined buildings. Grinning, he continued on his way as if he hadn't seen anything. Every now and then he'd hear the susurration of footsteps or the tap of fingers against stone and brick.

"C'mon, guys, keep up," he called in as loud a voice as he dared. "We're almost there."

3 and 4, who were walking alongside him, stared quizzically up at him and he chuckled.

A few minutes later they reached the garbage can. 5 held back a moment, pretending to keep watch as the twins slipped through the triangular gap. He peered around, noticing the knotted patch of yarn that poked up from behind a charred mason jar a few feet away. Smiling once more, he retreated into the shelter, lying down on his bed to wait patiently.

Almost a full hour after that, he sensed rather than head someone in the doorway. Opening his optic only a tiny bit, he saw 6's head duck back behind the entrance, then slowly peep out once again. He beamed and sat up, beckoning for 6 to enter.

"C'mon. It's okay," he whispered. "You'll be safe in here."

6 dithered indecisively in the threshold, his hands wringing together, then grasping his injured side, then tugging nervously at the key around his neck.

5 stood and held out his hands placatingly. He tilted head and asked softly, "Were you all alone out there, all this time?"

A hesitation, followed by a single nod.

5 murmured sympathetically. "Aw, gosh, I'm sorry. You must've been scared."

6 clung to the edge of the door, optics down, nodding again.

5 smiled; he couldn't help but find this new stitchpunk's shyness endearing. Cute, even.

7 shifted and grumbled in her sleep and 6 nearly leapt out of his cloth. 5 laughed.

"You're even jumpier than I am, huh?"

The striped being edged nervously around 7 form, clenching and unclenching his hands.

"It's okay," 5 assured him. "7's nice. You'll like her. Probably."

6 took another shuffling, cautious step closer, then darted forward and threw himself at 5, wrapping his thin arms around the other stitchpunk's neck and burying his face in 5's chest. 5 was knocked off-balance by the sudden weight and he tumbled backward onto his bed, 6 on top of him.

"Whoa_oof_!"

The striped being snuggled closer, making small apologetic noises that melted any annoyance 5 might've conjured. The older stitchpunk chuckled nervously, patting 6's back.

"Don't worry; nobody's gonna hurt you."

Grunting, he shifted so that they could both lie down on the little bed and pulled up the scrap of t-shirt he'd been using as a blanket. 6 never relinquished his grip around 5's shoulders, but sighed contentedly and let his head drop.

"F-five…" he mumbled timidly

5 blinked, his single optic widening.

"So you _can_ talk. I'd pretty much decided you were like 3 and 4."

6 muttered incoherently and nuzzled into 5's neck, closing his eyes. This caused an odd sensation in 5's inner workings, a kind of tingly feeling that made him happy and uncomfortable simultaneously.

"6…" He tried to speak, but for some reason no other words came to mind. He glanced down and saw that the small stitchpunk had fallen asleep against his chest. "Oh."

After a moment, 5 realized that he was grinning like an idiot. Coughing softly to cover his embarrassment (even though no one could see him), he lay back against the bed and stared into the darkness above him, pondering the strangeness of everything.

Within minutes he, too, had drifted off.


	2. Sudden Drop

9: Oh thank god, a female stitchpunk! A chance for hetero love!

7: Sorry, I'm a lesbian.

9: D: FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU--

"Uhh, 5? 5, wake up."

"Hmuuuhhh?" The drowsy stitchpunk opened his optic and blinked at the face of a bemused 7. "Wha's up?"

7 half-smiled and pointed down. "You, uh, you seem to have acquired a new friend."

"Huh?" He looked down. The striped stitchpunk still dozed, wrapped around his waist. "Oh, right. This is 6."

"You found it? Him?" 2 wandered over. "When? Last night?"

"Well, yeah, I-"

"You left the shelter in the night? What were you thinking?" 1 snapped, storming over to them. 8 towered silently behind him.

"I- 3 and 4 found him, trapped, and they came and got me so I could help- I-I mean, I couldn't just leave him there; he was hurt and alone and scared-"

"He's been injured?" 2 interrupted as 1 scoffed.

5 nodded, trying to speak softly so that 6 didn't wake up with all of them hovering over him. "Yeah, on his side, he's got a tear-"

6 woke up.

Of course, the first thing he saw was the group of strange new faces looming above him, their expressions ranging from friendly concern to outright hostility. Instantly, he leapt up and away, tumbling head over heels backwards off the bed and landing in a tangled heap. Before 5 could bend down to help, 6 had untwisted himself and scuttled back until he ran into 3 and 4, who had come forward to help. He dove between them and ducked behind the hat-bed they'd been asleep on.

7 chuckled at the newcomer's antics. 2 smiled and shook his head. 1 glowered. 5 stood and approached 6's hiding place, a worried look in his optic. He stuck his head around the beret and saw the striped creature flinch.

"6, it's okay. They're not gonna hurt you. Really." He offered a hand. 6 hesitated, then with a trusting glance at 5's reassuring face, grasped the hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. The older stitchpunk led him over to the others, smiling.

"Guys, this is 6. 6, this is, uh… everyone else."

"H'lo," the new being muttered demurely, optics down.

2 came forward, beaming, and took 6's unusual hand, patting it comfortingly. "So nice to meet you, 6! How interesting! Silver pen nibs! Have you tried writing? Do we have any paper nearby? I wonder if-"

7 broke in, halting the elder's enthusiastic rambling. "Hi," she grinned. "Good thing 5 found you instead of 2; this guy would've spent hours examining you and before you knew it, the sun would've come up and you two would've gotten stomped by some machine."

6 looked horrified and she laughed. "I'm just kidding."

5 smiled appreciatively at 7's attempts to put the newcomer at ease.

1 coughed imperiously, cutting short the others' inspection of 6. "_If_ it's not _too_ much trouble for you all, we should be on our way. We must find a more secure location."

"Of course," 2 said easily, before 7 could voice an opinion that would probably lead to several minutes of yelling.

The band of stitchpunks set out once more into the grey, desolate landscape of the outside world. A heavy fog had gathered, muffling the distant sounds of death and warfare almost entirely. In the eerie near-silence, every footstep was amplified, making all of them nervous and edgy. When 3 and 4 accidentally knocked over a coffee tin, the rattling clatter made everyone wince, and 1 immediately spun around to accuse them of trying to get everyone killed. The twins, as usual, seemed unphased, but for at least an hour after they remained close to 7 instead of darting away every few seconds.

As the day wore on, the stitchpunks began to search once more for a suitable shelter for the night.

"There!" 1 announced unexpectedly, pointing to a towering building in the distance. "We'll stay there."

No one felt much like arguing, so they headed for the abandoned construct while there was still light.

Suddenly 5 heard a faint thump behind him. He turned and spotted the prone form of 6, collapsed on the ground some feet back.

"6! Guys, wait up, something's wrong with 6!" He hurried to the striped figure's side.

"What happened?" 7 asked worriedly, walking toward them.

"Humph! Just trying to get attention, doubtless," 1 snapped. "We don't have time for delays."

Ignoring their obnoxious leader, 5 rolled 6 onto his back, supporting his head. The semi-conscious stitchpunk coughed, winced, and focused on 5's face. He blinked.

"Oh. Hello. Is it now?"

"You, uh, you collapsed," 5 said, not quite sure of how to answer the question 'is it now?'.

"Sorry," 6 mumbled quietly, starting to sit up and failing. He grimaced, his whole body tensing.

"Oh- right! You're hurt! I-I forgot and- why didn't you say anything?" 5 demanded. 6's mismatched optics darted up and down, back and forth, avoiding the other's eye.

"Just… didn't. It's not that bad. I can keep walking. Huh-help me up?" He asked hopefully, looking up at 5, who almost obeyed without thinking under such a pleading gaze. Fortunately, 7 intervened.

"No, you'll never make it that far on foot." She glanced at their destination, then back at her comrades. "5, can you carry him?"

"C-carry him? Sh-shouldn't 8 do it? He's stronger and…" 5 glanced over at the hulking stitchpunk, who was actively chopping at an abandoned stuffed animal with a chipped kitchen knife. Shuddering, the one-eyed being turned back to his injured companion, who wore an expression of desperate terror that melted to relief when 5 said, "I mean, yeah, I can carry him."

7 smiled knowingly (even craftily). "I thought so."

With a quiet grunt, 5 scooped 6 into his arms, once again slightly surprised at how little he seemed to weigh, and started towards the distant building. 1 scoffed something under his breath about delays and uselessness, but didn't voice any further complaint.

By the time they reached the lonely structure, the sun was just barely clinging to the horizon, throwing a few last red and gold beams across the scarred landscape.

The building seemed safe, but no one felt very comfortable with the idea of sleeping on the ground floor, which was a little too exposed, so 7 and 8 scaled the decrepit interior and lowered down a rope for the others.

They settled in the small room almost at the top of the tower, in front of a stained glass window, which the twins eagerly examined. 7 left to find bedding. 2 and 5 scrounged for materials to patch up 6.

"This should do," 2 said, tugging a long thread from a tapestry on the wall. 5 pulled a needle from his pack and went to find his patient.

The injured stitchpunk was huddled in front of the window, staring out at the colorless world below. He started when 5 touched his shoulder. The monoptic being smiled and held up the needle and thread.

"How 'bout I fix that tear now?"

6 ducked his head shyly. "That would be good."

5 directed the wounded creature to lie on his back, holding his left arm above his yarn-topped head to expose the rip.

"Okay. This is gonna hurt a little, but try not to move around."

"Mm-hm."

5 threaded the needle and, after giving 6's arm a soothing rub, slid the sharp end through the ragged slit, drawing it together and quickly repeating the motion. 6 whimpered and twitched, but managed to hold himself still. A minute later, 5 tied a knot in the string and snipped off the excess with a small pair of scissors.

"All done," he announced proudly. Suddenly it was his turn to flinch as something brushed the soft leather on the left side of his face. "Wha-" he reached up automatically to bat the object away before realizing that it was 6's hand.

The black and white stitchpunk whipped his hand away and looked down as if ashamed, stammering an apology. "I-I'm sorry, shouldn't have- just wanted to-to…uh … sorry. Sorry. Please don't be angry. Sorry."

"It's- no, it's okay, really, you just- surprised me is all," 5 replied, rubbing at the spot where those strange fingers had been. His face felt warm, and his insides were doing that tingly thing again. He cleared his throat and stood up. "Well, uh, I have to, y'know… go… do… stuff," he said lamely, then hurried away before 6 could respond.

7's search was successful, and she returned with a pile of materials for beds. 5 selected a big, warm, woolen stocking which he crawled into like a sleeping bag. It was the most comfy thing he'd slept in, but for some reason he couldn't seem to get to sleep. He shifted, rolled over, and bumped into someone's leg. He looked up and saw that 6 had a wrinkled newspaper blanket under one arm and a worried, almost guilty expression on his face.

"What's wrong?" 5 asked, glancing around to see that everyone else had dozed off.

"Nothing," 6 said, a little too quickly, edging away from the circle of sleeping stitchpunks. "Nothing, just… going to sleep. Down there." He pointed to a darkened platform, several levels down, lost in shadow and dust.

"Huh?" 5 quirked his stitched eyebrow. "Why would you wanna sleep there? It's nice and warm up here; besides, it's safer if we all stay together."

"I… I, uh, just need to. Just… bad things," the smaller stitchpunk muttered vaguely. "Bad things happen at night. I just… gotta go sleep away from people. Things. In my head. Bad." He tapped at the side of his striped skull and turned away, leaving 5 to stare in confusion at his retreating back.

The one-eyed being watched as 6 spread his crinkled bedding and lay down, so far away that his number wasn't even visible. Sighing, 5 settled back into his own bed. _I guess 6 is just kind of a loner. A quirky loner. I wonder what he meant by 'bad things'. Weird_. He slept, but only a few hours later he was woken by the sound of screaming.


	3. Before I Sleep

Angst. It's what's for dinner.

~*~

6: I see dead people.

5: How often do you see them?

6: All the time. They're everywhere.

5: Wow, you're CRAZY.

~*~

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!! **AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH**!!!"

5 bolted awake, got tangled in his bedding, and looked around wildly for the source of the anguished noise that filled the air.

"What's happening? What is it?"

1 stood at the edge of the stitchpunks' platform, looking down the open shaft irritably.

"That mad fool started screaming in his sleep. He's going to bring every machine in the area down on our heads. 8 is going down there to deal with him."

"Wait, _what_?" 5 managed to pull free of the stocking and stumbled over to the edge to see 8's hulking form drop onto 6's platform and disappear into the shadows, moving with cruel intent. "Wait- don't hurt him! Just- let me-" he turned around to ask for 7's help getting down there, only to see that she was absent, along with 2, 3 and 4. "No!" He spun back around and stared down into the murky darkness below, trying to work up the courage to swing onto the lower platform. Vertigo roiled in him, and the fear of falling made him take a step back. Another scream pierced the air, soul-wrenching and agonized. 5 bit down on his dread and began to climb fearfully down on his own, trying desperately to reach 6 before 8 did. The cries changed suddenly, becoming terrified pleading and horrible, sharp, pained sounds.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't- I didn't mean to _no, no, don't_ AAAHHH PLEASE NO PLEASE NO PLEASE-"

"6!" 5 called helplessly, dropping onto the platform as the howls abruptly ceased. "Wait! No-" He rushed into the shadows, momentarily disoriented, then spotted 8 standing, framed by an open window, looking out. 6 was nowhere to be seen.

_No. Oh, no, no, please, he couldn't have- he wouldn't-_

5 rushed to the window, elbowing 8's bulk aside as he stuck his head out and looked down.

6 lay, broken and twisted, in a heap at the foot of the building, so far down that he was only a grey smudge.

"NO!" 5 dashed back to the open drop-off and grabbed the line that still hung down, jumping off and sliding down to the floor. He dropped and ran outside, his feet barely touching the ground.

"6!" He saw the striped shape ahead on a pile of stones. Panting, he reached the defenestrated being and dropped to his knees. "Oh, 6, I'm so sorry."

6 managed to lift his head on a bent neck and blink weakly. "I-I-I think…I think I fellll down-own-own ag-gain. D-did I fall? Why is everything so…" His optics focused and he looked down at his own mangled limbs. "Oh. Oh, that's- _ow_, ow, it hurts, it hurts it hurts it really really _hurts_ ow ow ow _ohhhh_ noo, please please make it stop please 5 please-" His voice became panicky and he started to thrash.

5 grabbed the battered stitchpunk's head and tried to calm him. "I-I'm gonna try, okay? I'm gonna try to- to get you back inside and fix you, but you need to stay still, like yesterday, okay? I know, I know it hurts."

6 made a choking, whimpering sound and grabbed 5's arm with a maimed hand. "D-don't leave. Please? Hurts."

"I won't leave you, 6. I promise. I'm gonna try to carry you back in, alright?" The one-eyed stitchpunk touched 6's hand gently. 6 looked terrified.

"B-but he'll get me again. I know it. S-sparks and going around and around and so much pain, it hurts it hurts-"

"I won't let him get you, okay? Promise. But I gotta take you back in; it's not safe out here."

6 moaned in fear and agony as 5 lifted him as gingerly as he could and carried him back into the shelter of the building. 5 looked up the long shaft leading to the room they'd been occupying.

"Alright, I don't think I can get you back up there safely, so…we're just gonna stay down here, and wait for the others to get back from wherever they went." He set the wounded being down with a grunt and sat next to him, pulling the knot-topped head into his lap. 6 made tiny, agonized noises and trembled uncontrollably, his hands twitching against the scuffed, dirty floor. 5 felt something wrench inside himself. "Aw, 6, I'm sorry. I should've…I dunno, I should've done something. I shouldn't have hesitated. I'm sorry. I-I just get scared."

6 shook his head jerkily. "N-not your fault. Mine. Got in trouble. Not your fault."

There was a sudden sound outside; a pair of voices. 7, 4, 3, and 2 appeared in the gaping doorway, carrying various scrounged objects and chatting amiably (2 and 7 were chatting, anyway). They stopped dead when they caught sight of the two on the floor.

"What happened?!" 7 dropped the items she held and rushed over, the others following closely.

"He…he was screaming in his sleep, and 1 got angry, so 8…8 p-pushed him out a window." 5 choked, looking down at 6, who shivered again.

2 gasped in shock; 3 and 4 both clapped their hands over their mouths, optics wide; 7 clenched her hands into fists.

"Those sick, cowardly- they won't get away with this," she swore, glaring up to where 1 and 8 were.

"I-I don't think 1 meant for 8 to-to go that far," 5 said as 2 leaned down to examine 6.

"M'sorry," the mangled stitchpunk muttered to no one in particular. 2 shook his head.

"My boy, you've got nothing to be sorry for. Now," he turned to the pile of found objects. "Let's see about patching you up, eh?"

While 5 and 2 threaded needles and prepared to repair the unfortunate 6, 7 and the twins went to work putting together what 2 called an "elevator". The old inventor said that it would allow them to get up and down the levels of the building much faster, and let them carry things with them. 7 grumbled and threw murderous glances upward throughout the entire process.

"Where… where do we start?" 5 asked, staring down at the ruined body before him.

"Best to start with the worst of it." 2 sighed. "His neck is twisted; that had better get dealt with quickly. Then let's try to get this bit," he pointed to 6's right leg, where a piece of jagged metal actually jutted out of the fabric, "back into position. Then it looks like he's knocked a few ribs out of place, so we'll deal with those. After that let's pop his right arm and his other leg back into their sockets and fix his fingers."

5 shuddered as he imagined the process. 6 whimpered, clutching 5's arm.

"It'll be okay," the one-eyed stitchpunk promised, his voice shaking.

2 nodded reassuringly and patted 6's arm before reaching up to pull the heavy key up and off the torqued neck. The elder cleared his throat and addressed his apprentice.

"Now, 5, if you'll take hold of his shoulders, I'm going to twist his neck back and pop it into place."

6 shook under 5's hands. 2 gripped the striped being's chin and pushed it up with one hand, his other quickly forcing the metal rod in 6's neck back into its socket. 6 howled in pain, his mismatched optics wide and unfocused.

"Oh, jeez," 5 bit his lip in sympathy. "It-it'll be okay; just hang on."

"Hold his leg down," 2 instructed. 5 obeyed, wincing at the sight of the protruding steel. 2 grabbed the displaced metal and bore down on it, trying to force it back into place. 6 continued to scream, his head whipping back and forth. 7 dropped what she was doing and ran over to lend 2 her strength, gripping the striped leg and jamming the rod home. 5 fell back, landing heavily on his rump. 2 stood, patting 7 gratefully on the shoulder as she rose and walked back over to the twins. 6's cries had become ragged groans, his whole frame quaking and his sharp fingers digging into the earth.

"Oh, 6." 5 crawled over to him and ran a soothing hand through his yarn-hair. 6 looked up at the one-eyed stitchpunk with wordless agony. 5's single eyebrow knotted with concern and he turned to his mentor. "Ca-can't we do something to make the pain stop?"

"Not that I know of. I'm sorry." The kindly old inventor shook his head sadly. "But I suppose we could take a bit of a break. Let him catch his breath."

5 nodded and returned his gaze to the battered creature. "Does that sound okay to you?"

"Yuh…yes."

2 wandered over to 7, 3, and 4 and began to help with the construction of the elevator. 5 sat next to his injured companion.

"Can…do you think you can talk?" he asked hesitantly, twiddling his brass fingers.

"Uh-huh."

"Why, um-" he cleared his throat. "Why were you screaming? Earlier, I mean, when you were asleep?"

"Told you," 6 raised a shaky hand and tapped his head. "Bad things."

"What kind of bad things?" 5 asked curiously.

The striped being looked away. "Horrible things. Red eyes. Claws. Teeth. Bad things."

"Gosh," 5's optic widened. "That's…that's awful. You see this stuff…when you're asleep?" 6 nodded. "How often?"

"Every night. Sometimes during the day."

"E-every night?" 5 blinked in shock. "How are you still- you mean you wake up screaming like that every time you go to sleep?"

"Yes."

"But," a thought struck the older stitchpunk, "But you didn't do that on the night I found you. I think I would've noticed you yelling, what with you being asleep next to me."

6 glanced up at 5 and quickly dropped his gaze. "That was the first time," he whispered, so low that 5 could only just hear him. "First time the bad things didn't come. The only time. It was…it was nice."

"So…it only happens…when you sleep alone?" For some reason 5's face was doing that heating-up thing again.

"Maybe. Don't know." 6 looked up at him, a combination of gratitude and profound sadness in his mismatched optics. "Thank you, though. For the not-bad night. Thank you."

"Uhm, don't- don't mention it. I mean, it, uh, it wasn't, y'know, a bother or anything; it-I- uh…I'm glad it helped. For one night, anyway. Maybe we could…maybe I could h-help again sometime. If, if the bad things get too, y'know…bad." He ducked his head self-consciously. _Great job, Mr. Smooth._

At that moment, 2 came back and saved 5 from further embarrassing himself.

"Alright, 6, I'm sorry, but we should get back to it; it's not safe to stay down here too long. Once the elevator is finished we can hoist you back up and out of harm's way." The old engineer smiled down at them. 5 coughed awkwardly and scooted away from the patient.

The inventor bent down once more and gently prodded 6's side, making him yelp as the off-kilter ribs were jarred. "Hmm," 2 tapped his chin. "Feels like three ribs. Nothing broken, though, which is good. We should be able to just snap them into their grooves without having to open anything."

"Hooray," 6 mumbled. 2 chuckled and 5 smiled anxiously.

"I'm going to do this as quickly as possible, so try not to move, 6. This shouldn't hurt as much as before." 2 crouched and got a grip on the displaced spars. 5 hovered over his shoulder, observing. With a grunt, the elder pressed on all three ribs in turn until they each clicked into place. 6 barely had time to cry out. 2 nodded in satisfaction and turned to 5.

"Alright, think you can handle his dislocated leg and arm?"

"M-me?" 5 took a step back in surprise.

2 nodded. "Once those are fixed, we can transport him. I'm going to help finish the elevator; it's almost done. The sooner the better, eh?"

"B-but I'm not- I've only seen you do this a couple times and-"

"You're ready." 2 gave him an encouraging pat. "You'll do just fine." He walked over to the others and began aiding them in the final adjustments.

5 glanced down at 6 nervously. "Uhm," he said, his optic darting over the distressing sight of those twisted limbs. "Okay. This is- this'll be- this shouldn't be too hard."

6 looked worried, but he nodded. "Trust you," he said bravely.

5 gulped and knelt in front of his striped comrade. He took a deep breath and grasped 6's crooked ankle in both hands. Releasing the breath, he jerked sharply on the leg and heard a pop as the joint snapped in. 6 shouted once and instinctively pulled his newly healed leg away, then blinked in surprise.

"Oh." He flexed his leg experimentally and looked up at 5, his optics wide. "It feels better."

"Good." 5 half-grinned awkwardly. "I'll do your right arm, too, and then we can go up where it's safe."

"Safe," 6 said the word rather sardonically, glancing upward.

"D-don't worry. 2 and 7 and the twins and I won't let them hurt you again." 5 touched the undamaged arm lightly. "We'll keep you safe. It'll be okay."

For a moment the eccentric stitchpunk's optics seemed to flash with a greenish light. The glow faded quickly and 6 shuddered, passing his left hand across his optics as if he were trying to clear away cobwebs. Before 5 could ask what had just happened, 6 looked back at him and shook his head dismissively.

"S'nothing," he said without much unconvincingly. 5 started to suggest that maybe he'd hit his head, but 6 cut him off by gesturing to his dislodged arm. "Fix?"

"Right. Of course. Yeah." 5 thought it was kind of weird how whenever those mismatched optics were focused on him, he got that funny tingling sensation and his brain seemed to stop functioning properly. _Maybe I should ask 2 about it later. Or 7_. But for some reason, the idea of sharing this information made him uncomfortable. It was odd. He coughed and reached out to take hold of the damaged limb. "Ready?"

6 inhaled, exhaled, and nodded. 5 placed a hand on the empty, striped shoulder and grabbed 6's hand with the other. A swift twist and tug and the arm slipped into its socket cleanly. 6 gasped once, his whole body tense with pain, then slowly relaxed, melting into a puddle of relieved pain. He turned tired eyes toward 5.

"Thank you, 5." And then, slowly, timidly, the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile.

5's face heated up so quickly that his single optic fogged over, his whole system seeming to go into sudden overdrive as sparks shot down his spine.

"I guh huh um yeah I uh yeah no plobrem. I-I mean, no problem!" He realized that he was still holding onto 6's hand, and he dropped it, so flustered that he could barely form a sentence. He was rescued, once again, from his own ineptitude by 7, who called out that the elevator was ready. "Oh! Um…good. Okay. We'll be right there," he replied loudly over his shoulder before turning back to 6. "Uh, well, let's get you in the elevator and, uh, go back."

"Go back," 6 echoed vaguely, looking distant once more for a moment. He shook himself again and glanced back at 5. "Yes. Good. Let's go." He stood shakily, wobbling slightly, and took a step. His left knee gave out and he stumbled, 5 rushing in to grab him around the waist and shoulder and support him.

Together they made their way unsteadily over to the lift and climbed in. 2 and the others boarded the contraption, and the old inventor instructed 7 to reel them up. She obeyed, and slowly but surely the little device rose. Only minutes later, they reached the topmost level of the tower and disembarked. 1 and 8 were seated on the far side of the room, the eldest stitchpunk reclining on his throne. 2 immediately approached and began speaking firmly to him. 7 and the twins climbed out and began unloading the items they'd brought up with them. 5 stepped off the elevator and glanced back at 6, who was still pressed against the low wall of the lift. The recently damaged being looked uneasily back and forth from 8's bulky form to 1's haughty expression, then at 5, who held out a hand.

"It's okay," the one-eyed stitchpunk assured.

The striped eccentric took a cautious step forward and clutched 5's hand with his undamaged one, stepping down onto the wooden floor. 2 came back over, smiling.

"Don't worry; I've had words with 1 and he won't be pulling any stunts like that again." He patted 6's arm and added, "We'll repair your fingers tomorrow, and after that I've got a surprise for you that we found today. Now then, you should go and get some rest; you've had a taxing day."

6's optics widened and he glanced down. "Don't wanna."

"C'mon, 6, you need sleep," 5 touched his shoulder gently. "And you need to stay up here tonight, too. If you have another…problem, it would be better if we could reach you." He pulled lightly at 6's arm, leading him toward the circle of beds.

6 wavered indecisively, his awkward wooden feet scuffing against the floor, as he had on the night they'd met. 5 smiled and steered his reluctant companion over to the stocking. After a moment of dithering, 6 was persuaded into the warm woolen bed, his sharp fingers clutching the fabric as he pulled it up to his chin. 5 ruffled his knotted yarn-hair and stood up, turning to go.

_Bad things_.

The monoptic stitchpunk stopped suddenly as the two words appeared in his mind. He looked back over his shoulder at the small, vulnerable creature on the floor.

_Thank you, 5._

_Safe._

He turned and walked back over to the bed, crouching.

"Um…do you…should I…would you like me to…? I mean, you know, to help with the…bad things? In case you get…"

6 stared up at him and, hesitantly, nodded. 5 grinned weakly in relief and slipped in beside the striped stitchpunk. The sock was warm and cozy, just big enough to accommodate them both. They both lay in nervous silence for several minutes, pressed against one another. Then 5 felt the tense body next to his unclench and relax. 6's head fell softly against the bigger being's shoulder, his optics closing. 5 smiled again as the tingly thing in his belly was replaced by a kind of glowy feeling. He let his own head rest atop 6's, the yarn brushing his cheek, and slept.


	4. Soft Shock

Aw, hell, you guys. At first I was totally "Aargh, 1 is an evil bastard, keel heeem!!" but then I had to go and get hooked on ½ slash and fall madly in love with A High-Tech Burrito's fic What They Don't See and now I feel bad for writing him like this. Alas. Sorry, 1, but I guess that's what you get for sending 2 off to die!

(Hee, 2 has such a hand/finger-fetish!)

GOOD LORD, this chapter is loooong! That's why it took so long to post. That, and the sad fact that my guinea pig died.

~*~

6 awoke to hushed voices murmuring nearby.

"Is he awake?" That was the warrior, the strong survivor, standing to the left. Talking to him? No no no talking _about_ him.

"No, he's still resting. I didn't wanna wake him up; I figured the poor guy could use as much sleep as he could get," 5 replied softly, and his voice made little fuzzy things twirl around 6's tummy. He could still feel the warm spot next to him, heated by 5's inner workings before the older being had gotten up. Without opening his optics, the knot-topped stitchpunk rolled over and nestled into the hollow. He felt…strange, but in a good way.

A third voice. The kind one, the old one that almost seemed to understand. His tone was strained, like he was carrying something heavy. "Yes, that's best. Well, when he wakes up, fix his fingers and give him this." _Clunk_, something heavy set on the floor. Liquid sloshed. What was it? What what what what?

He sat up and opened his optics. The three creatures turned as one to look at him. He shrank away slightly under so many gazes, but 2 stepped forward in a friendly manner, smiling and taking hold of the hand that had been mangled yesterday. 6 tensed but managed not to pull away from the contact.

"Hullo, 6! Feeling any better?"

6 nodded, then winced as the elder gave his wrist a sharp twist. "There, good as new!"

The striped being craned his neck to get a better view of the object that 7 and 5 stood in front of. It was a squat glass jar, chipped but intact, half-filled with a strange, dark fluid. Curious, he squirmed free of the stocking and stumble-walked over to it, tripping on his oversized feet as they caught in a loose thread from the bed. He bent down and peered into the murky container. His own reflection, wavy and warped, stared back at him, its odd optics wide black holes in his face. He tapped the glass with one silver-pointed finger, creating a high-pitched _ping_ sound. 7 smiled.

5 touched 6's shoulder, getting his attention, then gripped the lid of the jar with both hands and twisted. Dried liquid crunched and the seal popped open, small black flakes settling on the wooden floor and on the surface of the fluid. Cautiously, 6 examined the contents before slowly extending an arm and dipping a single finger in. He withdrew his hand and held it up, staring at the dripping matter. It seemed very familiar…

"It's ink," 2 explained. "We found it yesterday, and I was curious to see if you could use it."

"Ink," 6 repeated. He felt odd again. Images from his dreams flashed by, screaming briefly through his mind like a zoetrope. The world spun for an instant. He glanced at his hand, then back at the inkwell. In one swift motion, he plunged all four fingertips into the ink and pulled his hand out, sending little whiplash spatters at the wall and the others, who ducked. 6 dropped to his knees and ran his ink-laden digits along the uneven wood slats of the floor. It left four jagged black lines, like gashes in reality. Inspiration struck; if he could take the pictures out of his head and put them down, maybe they would stay out. Maybe the others would understand, too. He quickly began to scribble, his sharp fingers gouging the floorboards and embedding the ink.

The other stitchpunks exchanged glances. 5's single eyebrow was furrowed with worry; 2 looked fascinated, like he was taking mental notes. 7 only shrugged. The monoptic being placed a hand on 6's back a second time, speaking gently.

"6? Are you okay?"

"Uh-huh."

"Umm…what are you doing?"

"'M_drawing_,"the striped artist replied, still not looking up from his work. After a moment, he sat back a bit. "See?"

5 peered over his companion's shoulder. "Wow. That's, uh, kinda scary-looking, 6. What is it?"

The younger stitchpunk glanced up. "A bad thing. _The_ bad thing." He gave a distant smile.

"Oh," 5 blinked. "W-so why are you…smiling?"

6 pointed to his head. "'Cause it's not in _here_, now. It's _there_." He jabbed a finger at the drawing, all spidery lines and sharp edges surrounding a single ring in the center. "I…I feel better."

"Really?"

6 nodded.

"Hmm…that makes sense," 2 said, stepping around the two younger creatures to examine the image. "I suppose that putting his visions or nightmares down on something solid would be cathartic."

7 crouched, frowning at the picture on the ground. "I don't like it," she muttered, seemingly to herself. 5 and 2 looked at her in surprise; 6 lowered his head, shamefaced. She quickly amended herself. "No, no, I mean I like the drawing, but I just…the thing itself gives me a bad feeling. I do like it," she asserted, patting 6 on the head. "Really." He nodded again, looking reassured. She stood. "C'mon, guys, let's go help the twins get material for that thing 2 wants to make."

"Ahh, the watchtower!" The old inventor rubbed his hands together. "Just you wait; it'll be a great asset to us all!" He and 7 started for the larger chamber where 3 and 4 were alternately sifting through a pile of scrap metal and wood and climbing around on 8, who was attempting to hammer together two boards without smashing anything else. 7 glanced back at 5 and 6.

"You guys coming?"

5 looked down at the striped stitchpunk, who was adding a few details to his creation with one hand and gripping the key around his neck with the other.

"We'll be right there," the one-eyed being responded. 7 nodded and followed 2. 5 knelt next to 6, watching the graceful motions of the artist's arm. 6's face looked calmer than 5 had ever seen him, almost serene. The odd being sat back once more and turned toward his observer.

'Thanks," he said softly. "For staying again…last night. It helped."

5 smiled a little unsteadily and chucked 6 lightly under the chin. "I'm glad. Maybe that's all you needed, huh? Some company." His hand moved, seemingly on its own, to cradle the left side of the striped face, as 6 had done to him the day before.

6 seemed surprised to find a hand on his cheek; 5 stared at the limb as if it weren't his, awkward embarrassment written all over his face. Still, the hand remained where it was. The younger stitchpunk slowly, ponderously lifted his own arm, the one without the ink, and mirrored 5's gesture, placing his own hand carefully on the warm leather that covered 5's empty socket. Both beings shivered slightly as what felt like a spark darted from their hands to their chests, little skittering tingles ricocheting through their bodies. 6 leaned into his companion's touch, optics half-shuttered. 5 felt the cautious tension in the smaller stitchpunk's arm, the way he kept his sharp pen nib fingers from scratching the other. 5's single optic met 6's mismatched ones, and once again the older creature's body acted on its' own. His head began to tip forward, his mouth opening slightly and his neck tilting to achieve a better angle for…something.

_**Crash!**_

Both stitchpunks jumped and turned toward the source of the clamour, their hands dropping. In the next room, 1 scolded the twins vehemently for pulling an item from the bottom of the pile. 5 chuckled nervously and risked a glance back at 6. The eccentric being quickly dropped his gaze, scooting backwards and standing up.

"Should go help," he mumbled, both hands wringing his key.

"R-right…"

They both walked into the main chamber. 7 glanced at them, then looked away, smiling conspiratorially at 3 and 4, who were busily ignoring 1. 2 beamed and approached 5 and 6. He patted 6's arm.

"Feeling better?" 6 nodded shyly. "Good! If you'd like, I could use your help with these," the elder pointed to a group of wooden boards and small, spiraled bits of metal. "I think your fingers would come in handy getting the screws into the planks. As for you," he looked at his apprentice, "I'd like your help gathering a few more things from outside."

5 started to agree, then hesitated, glancing in concern at 6. 2 caught his meaning and assuaged his fears.

"Not to worry. 7 and the twins will be here, and I've spoken to 1 about being more tolerant." The inventor stepped back to allow 8 to pass, carrying an armload of rope (and, unknown to him, the twins, who were clinging to his back and giggling silently). 6 shrank back from the hulking stitchpunk, but forced a brave expression so that 5 wouldn't worry.

After considering, the one-eyed engineer assented. "Okay. We won't be gone long, right?"

"Indeed, not long at all," 2 agreed. "We only need a few things." He and 5 set off, climbing into the bucket of the elevator.

6 remained where he was, watching them depart with a preoccupied expression, hands fumbling with the metal around his throat. As 2 began to operate the pulleys, 5 glanced back at the solitary figure. He offered 6 a tentative smile, lifting one hand to wave. 6 waved back shyly, a quick wiggle of his silver fingertips. 5's smile grew, and then he and 2 had dropped out of sight. 6 lowered his hand, frowned at the ink that lingered on it, and wiped his hand against his side. The black liquid stained his fabric, spreading and soaking in. He didn't take much notice.

"You two are so cute," a voice behind him announced. He jumped about a foot, arms and legs flailing in surprise. 7 had managed to walk up without making a sound. She laughed and held up her hands. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

"'Sokay," he muttered, rubbing the shoulder that he'd dislocated the day before; he'd pulled it a little in his minor conniption.

The warrior continued, grinning. "But I mean it; the pair of you are so funny and cute."

"Huh?" 6 tilted his head, yarn falling to one side, and stared at her in confusion as they walked toward the pile of wood he was to work on.

"Well, just the way you act around each other. 5 gets so flustered and tongue-tied when he talks to you. And you actually talk to him, not just the single-word responses you usually give."

He ducked his head sheepishly and she chuckled again, patting him on the back. "Like I said, it's cute. So, you like him?"

"Of-of course," the artist replied, perplexed. What kind of question was that?

She smiled. "I thought so. How much do you like him?"

"Um," again, he wasn't quite sure what to say. "A…lot?" He hoped it was the right answer. It was certainly the true one.

7 laughed again, delighted. "I knew it!"

6 stared up at her, baffled. "Knew what?"

She was too busy chortling victoriously to answer, but she ruffled his tuft of yarn in a nonchalantly friendly manner before wandering away. He stood in utterly puzzled silence for a moment, then turned and began working on the lumber. He found that 2 had been right; if he placed the screws against the wood and stuck one flat fingertip into the end, he could turn the metal bits quickly so that they dug into the planks. He soon became lost in his task, not even noticing when 1 came by, scrutinized his work, and said "Hmph!" before walking away. An hour passed. 6 had nearly finished the final piece and was beginning to wonder what he was supposed to do next when 5 walked up behind him and coughed to get his attention (which the older stitchpunk had decided was a better idea than touching his shoulder or speaking- 6 was so jumpy he'd probably have had a seizure).

The striped artist turned and smiled up at 5, clearly happy to see him again. "Hullo!"

"Hi, 6. That looks really good; you did a great job with those bolts. How are you feeling? Are you still doing okay?" The engineer seemed to be holding something behind his back as he spoke. 6, who was insatiably inquisitive by nature, ignored the question and dove forward, trying to peek at the item. He stumbled, which was not surprising for him, and collided with 5's waist, causing them both to tumble to the floor.

"Oof-6! What're you – hey!" the monoptic being couldn't help but laugh as the smaller stitchpunk poked and prodded his sides, trying to get him to reveal the mystery object. "Okay, hang on, let me sit up!"

6 obeyed, pulling away and parking himself on his rear, legs splayed haphazardly. 5 chuckled and brought his hand into view, displaying the slightly crumpled bundle he held. "I…found this outside," he said bashfully, "and I thought, well, you've got ink, but if you keep drawing on the floor 1 will get mad, so…" he unfolded the crinkly white sheets. "Ta-dah. Blank paper. And when this runs out, we can get more, 'cause there's a stack of it." He held out the papers and 6 accepted them, examining them thoughtfully. 5 bit his lip anxiously. "Do…do you – will they help? Are they okay?"

6 looked up, meeting his nervous gaze, and gave him a smile so bright and joyous that it nearly glowed. "Thank you. These…I'm…" he couldn't quite think of how to express himself. "They're perfect, 5."

The one-eyed stitchpunk felt like a candle had been lit inside him. He felt like he could take on an entire army of machines. _Perfect_. He'd found these papers for 6, and they were perfect. He beamed back at the artist, all traces of awkwardness gone for an instant. He needed to – he had to do something; he wasn't sure what, but the urge was overpowering and he found himself leaning in and pressing his mouth against 6's. His brain froze, then panicked at hyperspeed. _What am I doing; this isn't what I meant to do, is it? Something's not right, I shouldn't—_

But apparently 6 didn't have any such thoughts, for after only a second of shock he brought one arm up and placed his hand on the back of 5's head, encouraging him. Their lips opened and a burst of warmth and sunlight passed between them. 6 made a sort of "hmmm!" in the back of his throat, a happy little humming sound. 5 realized that he'd closed his optic and that 6's other hand had come to rest on his hip, drawing him closer. In fact, the larger stitchpunk had somehow ended up on top of his companion. He heard a shuffling sound, a giggle, then a soft clicking accompanied by a strobing light he saw through the crack of his optic. He sat up quickly and spun around just as 3 and 4 dove behind a chunk of scrap metal, their optics still flickering with amusement. 7 remained where she stood a few feet away, doubled over with laughter.

"Hey! What-" 5 sputtered, climbing off of 6, completely embarrassed once more. 6 rolled onto his knees and began picking up the sheets of paper he'd dropped. 7 continued to hoot with laughter.

"Sorry, but you two were just asking for it!"

"Oh, go away!" 5 snapped, but he didn't really do angry very convincingly. The female stitchpunk shook her head, snickering, and led the twins away.

"Okay, okay, we'll let you get back to your…activities."

5 groaned, knowing he'd never hear the end of this and not sure why it made him so flustered. He turned to 6. "Um…s-sorry about that. I-I dunno what came over me. Sorry."

"Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why?" 6 repeated, looking innocently surprised as he stood up with his armload of paper. "Why are you sorry? Liked it. Was nice. Almost as good as drawing."

"Wow…really?" 5 was flattered.

The striped stitchpunk nodded, optics full of honest conviction, and stepped closer. "Again?"

"Uh-" the burlap being glanced nervously over his shoulder, hands twiddling. "We – we'd better not. Not right now, anyway," he revised hastily when 6's shoulders drooped. "Just- I mean – we don't want 1 coming by and catching us doing something like that, right?" _Whatever 'that' was_… "But, um, later…like, tonight after we've finished working on the tower?"

6 nodded, still looking down at his feet. 5 felt a swell of remorse and guilt for making the younger stitchpunk unhappy. He shuffled closer and put his arms around the small, black-and-white shoulders. "Aw, 6, don't be sad. You can draw tonight, right? And, uh, I'll be there, so you don't get scared, and we can – we can…y'know. Do that again." He stroked 6's back comfortingly and kissed the top of his head. "Okay?"

6 nodded but made no move to leave 5's embrace. He burrowed his face into the taller being's neck, sighing contentedly, not minding that the papers were getting crushed between them. 5 smiled and tightened his grip, then coughed awkwardly and released him, shuffling back a few paces.

"Well, uh, I should go help 2 upstairs. I'll see you later, alright?"

He turned and headed for the lift, trying to quell the chaotic turmoil of emotions battling inside him. 6 watched him go, clutching his key, then glanced down at the papers in his hand, his features lighting up with sudden insight. He scurried off toward the inkwell.

~*~

"Well, that should do it for today; we're almost out of daylight anyway," 2 announced, dusting himself off and taking a step back to admire their work so far. "You did very well, m'boy! This'll be done in no time!" He smiled cheerily at 5, who chuckled distractedly. The old architect gave his apprentice a pat on the shoulder as he turned away.

5 hurried after his mentor, preparing to ask the question he'd been fumbling with all day.

"H-hey, 2? C-can I ask you about something?"

"Certainly," 2 snuffed out a candle that the twins had left burning by the door. "Ask away."

5 took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "What…what are you supposed to do when you...f-feel a certain way about someone?"

"That's not terribly specific. Feel how about who?" The elder climbed into the elevator, 5 close behind him.

"Uh – well, I have a – friend," the one-eyed being began evasively, knowing he didn't sound the least bit convincing. "A friend that has, um, feelings for…another friend. But the first friend isn't really sure – what he's supposed to do about them, and is a little worried that maybe somebody might think they're…strange, or bad, and he doesn't want the others to find out about it, but some of them kind of already have, by accident."

2 paused and looked over his shoulder at 5, a surprisingly embarrassed and almost guilty look in his optics. "Wh – ha-have we been making too much noise at night? I'm terribly sorry, we, uh, thought no one could, ah, hear us and, er…" he trailed off, seeing 5's perplexed expression. "Oh. Um. You're talking about yourself, aren't you?"

"Uhh, well, yeah." 5 shuffled his feet uneasily, and then looked up at 2. "Why – who were you talking about?"

"No one, no one at all!"

The younger stitchpunk raised his eyebrow, but let the matter drop. He sighed and sat down as the elevator began to descend. "Yeah, I was talking about myself. And – and someone that I kind of maybe sorta, well, someone I-"

"Is it 6, then?" 2 asked expectantly, barely concealing a smile at 5's astonished face.

"Y-yeah, how did you-"

"There are only eight of us, my lad. It was, forgive me, a little obvious."

"Oh, jeez." 5 worried at a stray thread on his arm. "Do – do you think 1 knows? Or 8?"

"Ah, well, I uh-" 2 coughed and glanced away. "I wouldn't worry too much about 1, on this matter anyway. As for 8…I think if he knew, he would have made his opinion clear by now."

"Yeah," 5 agreed. "You're right. But – so…you don't think it's…bad or anything?"

"Bad? Of course not!" The elder replied heartily. "Even if I did, why should anyone but you have a say in how you feel about one another?" He smiled. "If you make each other happy, which you clearly do, you should be together."

"You…really think I make 6 happy?" A timid smile tugged at the corners of 5's mouth as he recalled the striped loner's glowing grin, the soft rasp of his voice. _Perfect, 5…_

"I know you do," 2 affirmed. "Have you noticed how he flinches whenever someone touches him, even lightly?"

"Yeah."

"He doesn't do that with you. He trusts you." The old inventor slowly brought the lift to a halt and climbed out. 5 followed suit, stumbling a little when his toe caught on the edge of the platform.

The young engineer seemed to consider his guru's statement. "Trusts me…" He unconsciously touched his lip as he headed for the main room. 2 followed, shaking his head and chuckling silently.

Inside the antechamber, 1 had lit a small fire in the metal dish in one corner and was seated on a pillow near it, enjoying the warmth. 8's bulky outline could be seen lying along the wall, sleeping. 2 beamed and approached the eldest stitchpunk. 5 walked along the border of the room, giving the grumpy 1 as much berth as he could. He hung in the doorway to the smaller room, expecting to see 1 snap at 2 and shoo him away. Instead, the self-appointed leader glanced up at 2, who only smiled gently. To 5's complete shock, 1 scooted over a few inches on his cushion to let the inventor sit beside him.

_Weird_. The one-eyed creature slipped into the next room. "Hello?" He called out, seeing the flickering light of a candle. No one responded, but he heard a soft scratching noise and the susurration of footsteps. He wandered toward the light, wary of any sudden or unexpected movements in the darkness. Four figures came into view, scattered around the wavering glow of the candlelight. The twins were standing in front of the wax stump, their attention riveted on something on the floor. 7 leaned against the wall, also watching, with equal fascination, as 6, who was on his hands and knees, carved an arc into the air and plunged his hand back into the glass jar of ink. He let his fingers scrawl across the surface of the paper in front of him, black lines seeming to flow out of nowhere. 5 tore his gaze away from the artist, who hadn't noticed his presence yet, and peered at the floor around him. Loose leaves of paper were strewn across the wooden surface, each bearing a different design. 7 glanced up and caught his eye, winked, and pointed to the sheet that 6 was scribbling away at, then at the sheets on the floor. 5 looked down, examining them more closely. The one closest to him was of a skeletal, intimidating visage, single eye trained on the viewer. He shuddered and turned to the next one, what appeared to be an extreme close-up of a human's hand, beckoning or banishing; it was impossible to tell. A tunnel, a single pinprick of light at the end. _The pipe he was trapped in_, 5 realized. The third image was more cheerful – the sun, glimpsed through rainy clouds. He took a careful step forward, still focused on the ground. He came across a sketch of the twins, crawling over a book, and one of 7 wielding her spear. Then a third face, strange but somehow familiar. A stitchpunk he didn't know. He frowned as he studied it, concerned, and took another step, this time bumping into a candle whose wick had burned down. The clatter made 3 and 4 spin around, 4 clinging to 3 in alarm. 6's head whipped up, and his expression of concentration melted into absolute relieved joy.

"5!" The striped oddball leapt up, sending ink spattering everywhere, and darted toward the monoptic being, bowling over the twins in his enthusiasm. He skidded to an abrupt halt, worry and uncertainty suddenly spreading across his features.

5 smiled encouragingly and opened his arms. That was all 6 needed; he leapt forward and threw his skinny arms around the larger stitchpunk, almost knocking him down again. 5 returned the gesture, hugging him just as tightly. They parted and each took a few small steps away from one another, though the engineer's hands remained on 6's shoulders.

7 cleared her audio box. "I suppose the two of you would like a little alone time?"

"Uhm, yeah, if it's not too much trouble," 5 said sheepishly, still gazing at the knot-topped artist.

"Sure thing," she smirked and herded the twins away. "But you owe me."

"Oh- uh, you probably shouldn't go into the main room," 5 cautioned, looking up.

7's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"1 and 2 are…um, I'm not sure. Arguing or something. Just, uh, I wouldn't go in there if I were you."

"Ohh, right," she said with a knowing grin. "Arguing."

She and the twins faded into the darkness, 4's optics lighting their way as they headed for the upper level. 5 chuckled and turned back to 6, who was examining the buttons on his chest. The one-eyed stitchpunk's gaze went to the cluster of papers that 6 had been working on when he'd arrived. His brow furrowed when he noticed that, except for the one that was unfinished, they were all scribbled out. He squinted, trying to make out the subject. It was a stitchpunk, that much was apparent; he could see the outline of shoulders, a head, a single optic…

"Wha-" he blinked and walked over to the drawings, bending down to pick up the intact one. "6, is this- is this me?" It certainly looked like him; even in the rough, incomplete form his face was recognizable, a warm smile on his lips and a friendly shine in his optic. He looked…well, handsome. He'd never really gotten a good look at his own reflection, and until now he'd never wanted to. _Do I really look like that?_ He felt a bubble of pride rise up inside himself, and his hand moved up to touch the left side of his face in a gesture that had become unconscious to him.

Suddenly 6 scampered forward and snatched the paper away, hiding it behind his back and looking down demurely as he muttered, "N-not done yet. Couldn't quite get any of them right. Sorry. Not – not done yet."

5 shook his head, still marveling at the artist's portrayal of him. "6, it looks amazing." He reached out and rubbed the striped cheek. "Really." He bent slightly and kissed 6 fully on the mouth. The younger stitchpunk jumped a little, surprised, but quickly responded by standing on his tip toes to get a better position. The drawing floated to the ground as the loner brought his arms up to wind around the back of 5's neck. 5 moaned softly, running his fingers through the tangle of yarn on 6's head. His other hand moved down slowly, brushing along the contours of the smaller body in his arms. Suddenly his brass fingertip ran over a small hole in the seam in 6's side, metal touching metal for the briefest instant. 6 gasped as if the wind had been knocked out of him and gripped 5's back reflexively, shuddering. His sharp fingers dug into the burlap of the larger being's form, and 5 winced and pulled away. "Ouch-!"

"S-s-sorry," 6 panted, his gears whirring like he'd been shocked. "Didn't mean to, just g-got startled, sorry, didn't mean to hurt you—"

"Calm down, 6," the one-eyed stitchpunk smiled and stroked his companion's arm soothingly. "I'm not hurt; I just wasn't expecting that."

"Me neither," the little pariah admitted, recalling the jolt of lightning that had lashed through him at the touch of 5's finger.

The engineer caught his breath and smiled. "I guess we surprised each other, huh?"

6 nodded, hesitantly returning the smile, which widened into an involuntary yawn.

"Yeah, we should probably get some rest." 5 glanced at the wool stocking, off to one side. "Gotta finish the tower tomorrow. And you need as much rest as possible." He took hold of one gracefully pointy hand and led the compliant artist over to the bed. They snuggled in together, 5's chin resting atop 6's head, their arms wrapped around one another. As they drifted off, each stitchpunk reflected on what a busy and eventful day it had been.

~*~ (As much as I'd like to leave this chapter there, I gotta throw out this lovely lil' cliffhanger! Pleasedon'tkillme. Oh, and if you can catch the microscopic movie reference in the first sentence below, you are my hero and win many cookies and high fives. Or hugs.)

The next day…

6 inscribed a wide arc across the clean white sheet of void in front of him, decided he didn't like that line, and turned it over to continue on the other side. He drew a quick circle, then a few slashing lines, another circle, another and finally a fourth. He wasn't entirely sure what he was drawing; he was feeling a little distracted. 5 had been up in the tower with 2 since dawn, and the artist hoped he was doing okay. It seemed a little dangerous, being up so high…the thought of so much height made him shudder _the ground rushing toward him so fast sofast_ but he banished the bad thoughts and returned to his drawing. Pages were spread out around him in his secluded little corner-lair like ashes. He wiped a stray droplet of ink on his hip and added a quick few adjustments to the whatever-it-was he'd just drawn. He drummed his fingertips on his chin, not noticing the flecks of liquid that sprayed from them and onto his face and yarn. _What is it? It looks like…like…_

His thoughts were interrupted by a shadow that blocked out the filtered sunlight behind him. He turned, hoping to see 5, and was instead met with the intimidating mass that was 8. The small outcast froze in momentary dread, his optics going huge. 1 stepped around his bodyguard and glared down at 6, then at the drawings scattered about, with an imposing and condemnatory demeanor.

"6," he said shortly, "I would like a word with you."

6 tried to scramble away, but 8 caught him by one ankle and lifted, dangling him upside down while the terrified artist whimpered and muttered, squirming.

"No no no please no I've been good, I-I've tried to be quiet, I really have-"

"Trying and doing are not the same," snapped the eldest stitchpunk. Seeing the striped captive flinch, he forced himself to smile and attempted to speak reassuringly. "But as you yourself said, you have been trying; so I have decided to help you."

6 paused in his struggles, still swinging upside down and getting woozy, and tried to focus on 1. "H-help?"

"Yes," 1 said, regaining his composure. "I have thought of a way to cure you; it's an old method, tried and true." His smile grew. "It's called 'electroshock treatment'."

~*~

Dun Dun DUUNNNNN!!!!!

H


	5. Torture Me

Hello, world! No, I am not dead; I've just been recovering from surgery! Woohoo. Anyway.

Don't torture crazy people, kids. Electroshock's no fun, and even the voices in our heads have feelings. Also, 1 apparently doesn't know all that much about electroshock. He just skimmed through an article or something. He gets an 'F' on his research paper. But, hey, I also get an 'F' for my research on the effect of metal in microwaves. Scientific facts, I choose to ignore you!!!

Magical quote of the day: Much learning doth make thee mad! ~Billy the Bard

Totally works for 6. The poor woobie.

Songs to listen to while reading this chapter:

Soundtrack of Dragonheart

The Execution by Paul Cantelon

Hello by Evanescence.

Chorale IV- (Alame Oo Ya) by Adiemus

~*~

8 carried him, kicking and thrashing, to the elevator and climbed in, 1 following. The giant kept a firm grip on 6's mouth, clamping it shut, other huge arm wrapped tightly around the small body in a mockery of an embrace. The bucket began to lower. 6 writhed desperately, trying to leap free, or at least call out, and 1 scolded him like a misbehaving child.

"Stop that, you little fool. Don't you understand; we're trying to help!" The leader lashed out with his staff, catching the petrified recluse's shoulder. "This won't hurt a bit. Just keep still and quiet and you'll feel better."

With a _thunk_, the lift hit the bottom of the cathedral. The stitchpunks disembarked and headed for a white box on the ground, the captive still struggling in 8's grasp. He twisted his head around to see their destination. The white box was shiny and about one foot wide and one foot deep. The front of it was a black, semi-transparent door, with numbers along the side and strange words like "defrost" and "timer" and "thaw" embossed on buttons. Somehow, he knew then what was about to happen to him, and he screamed into 8's hand, begging wordlessly. The behemoth paid no heed, and with one swift movement he opened the door and tossed the small being in to land heavily on the glass plate inside. The door slammed shut before 6 had a chance to even get up. He pounded on the dark glass, clawed at it with his jagged fingers, picked at the seams, but the prison did not give.

"No!" He pleaded with them, terrified in the helpless knowledge of what awaited him. "No! Please!"

1 took a step forward, ignoring him, and began to press buttons.

~*~

5 tightened the final bolt and stepped back. "I think…yeah, the telescope's done." He gave the instrument a pat.

"Wonderful!" 2 stepped out from the small shelter he'd been constructing and wiped his hands on a bit of cloth. "It looks perfect! I've just finished the last modifications on the rigging system, so…we're done!" He glanced around appraisingly. "Excellent. This is certainly a beginning; now we can keep an eye out at all times without having to leave. Shall we head downstairs? I have some preliminary plans for our next project, and I'm sure 6 will want to see you."

"Sure." The younger architect smiled at the thought. "Oh, and he told me he has some more drawings for you."

"Smashing!" (I had to do it.) The inventor began to haul on the line of the elevator. "They're so fascinating, aren't they? I've been wondering about that stranger he drew; do you suppose-" he paused, out of breath from pulling the rope. "Whoof. The lift must be all the way down. Lend me a hand, will you?"

5 hurried over and helped his mentor, slowly heaving the bucket up. At last, it bumped into the platform below and they dropped into it. "Wonder why it was down so low?"

"Maybe 7 and the devious duo have returned from their scouting mission." 2 chuckled. "We may have stolen their ride from them."

The apprentice laughed as they began their descent. "7 won't be too pleased with us."

The elevator came to a halt at the 'main' level, and 5 hopped out. "I'll be right back. I wanna get 6. I think maybe a little fresh air would help him, and I want him to see the tower."

"Alright. I'll wait here." 2 sat down, smiling good-naturedly.

"Be just a sec," 5 assured him, turning and scurrying off toward the small room that the artist liked to sit in. "6!" He ducked into the den, grinning, then halted and frowned slowly. The striped stitchpunk was nowhere to be seen. Only his scattered drawings filled the small chamber. 5 shrugged. _Maybe he's gone downstairs to meet 7 and the twins…or maybe he went to find me._ He started to leave, one hand on the doorframe, when he felt the indentations. He peered at the wall and saw that someone had gouged four deep scores in the wood, like claw marks. Like someone being dragged out against their will. He looked down and saw the second set of scratches that led out the door, toward the elevator. "Oh, no."

A cry came echoing up the tower, an inarticulate roar of rage and shock. 5 bolted, going back to the lift as fast as his heavy wooden feet would take him.

"What was that? It sounded like 7-" 2 was cut off by his apprentice, who leapt into the bucket and released the pulley so quickly that they plummeted.

5 pulled them to a halt just above the hard ground and shot out, landing heavily on his knees. He got to his feet and gasped in dismay at the tableau of horror before him.

8 and 7 were locked in a struggle of clashing blades and fists as the massive guardian warded her away from the white plastic cube behind them. The warrior bellowed again, voicing her fury at the injustice and cruelty taking place. Their constantly-moving bodies were silhouetted by the irregular, crackling voltage that rampaged about inside the box. Through the sparks and pops of light, 5 made out a convulsing figure, writhing with each pulse of energy. He recognized the seizing form, and his mechanical heart seemed to stop.

"**6****!**"

The monoptic stitchpunk raced past 8, who was too intently focused on the fight to notice him, and slammed his palms against the glass. "**6**!"

The creature inside the chamber didn't respond; probably couldn't. His mouth was flung wide in an agonized scream, but the door muffled it and he couldn't be heard over the crackle of electricity. 5 frantically hammered at the box, willing it to open, then spun around to look for something to pry it with and caught sight of 1.

The leader was sprawled on the dirt floor as if he'd been knocked back by some great force. He seemed frozen, a look of stunned terror on his face, his optics locked onto the tormented 6 in immobile, horrified fascination. 5 ran over to him and grabbed him by the shoulders, yelling into his face.

"How do you turn it off?!"

"I-I-" the stitchpunk elder could barely form words. "It-it wasn't supposed to…I- it's- I don't…I didn't intend…" His optics stared right through the younger being, riveted on the silently howling prisoner.

5 shook 1, his anger fueling him to be bolder than he'd ever dared. "How do you open it?! _Tell me_!" He was furious; the rage pumped through his system like fire. "_TELL ME!_"

1 was mute, still in shock. 5 screamed, as 7 had, desperate sorrow creeping into his voice, and turned away.

"5!"

He looked up; 2 had picked up 1's scepter where it had fallen. The inventor thrust the staff into the door of the cell, wedging it firmly but unable to get it open. 5 scrambled over and threw his weight against the metal stick, every rod and gear taut and straining.

There was a wrenching, drawn-out groan, and suddenly 5 was tumbling to the ground as the door swung open and, with a final _pop!_, the sparks ceased.

5 jumped to his feet and entered the plastic prison. "6!"

The artist lay motionless on the chipped, scorched glass plate, curled in on himself. His claw-like fingers were dug deep into the fabric of his arms. Smoke rose from his body in slow, hazy lines, weaving away toward the ceiling. A strange green light hung as fine as mist above their heads.

"6? Can you – are you – s-say something," 5 gently grasped a striped shoulder and rolled the smaller being onto his back, then flinched as if he'd been burned. 6's optics were open as wide as they could go, but they lacked the faint glow of life. All his face held was a terrible, gear-stopping emptiness. "6, wake up." 5's voice broke and he fell to his knees. "C'mon. I'm here, I'm –" He felt as though the bottomless holes that were 6's optics were sucking his soul out, leaving him hollow. "Please," he whispered, "No." He heard a choked breath behind him and realized, dimly, that the others had gathered at the doorway. He didn't care. He cradled 6's ink-stained head between his hands, bent his neck, and sobbed into the crook of the cooling shoulder he'd rested his head on just the night before. No tears came out, but he wept all the same, grief and loss pouring from him. "6, please. Please, don't leave me, 6, don't leave me…"

"5…" 2's voice seemed distant and faded.

"No." The one-eyed stitchpunk repeated stubbornly, refusing to lift his head.

"5," 7 said, more insistently, "_look_."

He glanced up, gasped, and sat back. The green glow that had been clinging to the top of the box had moved as if of its own volition, forming a corkscrew down to 6's head. The very tip of the spiral touched down, and suddenly the phosphorescent fog was pulled down into those vacant, mismatched sockets like water into a drain. The other stitchpunks were silent in awe and anticipation as the final remnant of light disappeared into the lifeless form. 5 felt as if a weight were pressing on his chest; he couldn't breath, couldn't speak.

The emerald radiance left the air at the exact moment that a tremor shot through 6's body. His fingers clenched, unclenched. His optics shuttered open and closed spasmodically. Finally, a gasp issued from his mouth. He lifted his head weakly and focused dazedly on the being crouched over him.

"6?" 5 asked faintly.

The artist frowned, looked down at his black and white self, and nodded once.

"Oh, **6**!" 5 dove forward and threw his arms around the smaller creature. 6 responded slowly, as if he were still waking up from a long sleep, then suddenly shoved the bigger stitchpunk backward and crawled away a few paces, a look of fear and confusion on his face. 5 sat up. "What's wrong? D-did I hurt you? What is it?"

The frantic being opened his mouth to speak, but only a strange static sound came out. "Shhhhkshhhhx." He grabbed at his abdomen in pain, still mouthing warped words.

"His voice box!" 2 realized, stepping into the cube. "It must have melted."

"Ca-can we fix it?" 5's attention didn't stray from the frightened creature.

"I think so, but we may need to go outside to get a new one."

At the inventor's words, 7's head snapped up. "Outside – in the eastern ruins…there's – there's a monster. A beast, some kind of machine. It's new. I think…I think it was built to hunt _us_."

"What?" 2 turned to her, brow furrowed. "What did it look like?"

The warrior's normally rakish expression had been replaced by a look of bitter recognition. "Exactly like the thing he drew." She nodded at 6's curled form. "We only saw it from a distance, but there was no mistaking it."

5 wasn't really paying attention to what 7 and 2 were saying; he shuffled forward on his knees, extending an arm. "6, c'mon. It's okay, come with me. We're gonna get you fixed, alright?"

6 didn't respond, only sat there mumbling the same words over and over in his eerie, crackling voice. "Shhhhkshhhhx."

5 gingerly set a hand on 6's shoulder, scooting closer until he was able to slide his arms under the fragile manikin's body and lift him. Cradling him tenderly, 5 carried 6 out of the plastic cell, past the onlookers, and over to the elevator. The others were hushed as he set his burden down on one of the seats and began to pull the bucket upward. When they were some two meters up, 2 broke the silence.

"Wait…where are 3 and 4?" He glanced around for the twins, who were nowhere to be seen.

7 turned, slowly, to face him, and the raw grief in her expression answered him before her words did.

"They're gone, 2."

"What?" The elder's optics grew wide. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, they're _gone_," she said flatly. "They came back with me, to warn you all about the monster, and then we saw – we saw what _he_ was doing to 6," she jabbed a finger at the still-mute 1. "We saw, and I ran to help 6, and they were just so scared, and they turned and ran. They – they're so little, they shouldn't have seen that, and I-I wanted to go after them, but I was already fighting him," she pointed to 8, who was only just then getting back to his feet. "And I couldn't get to them, I couldn't do _anything_! They're gone." With those words like an epitaph, she turned and faded back into the grey melancholy of the outside world.

After a long moment of heavy reticence, 2 spoke again, addressing 1. "What were you thinking?" His voice held no judgment or anger, only sorrow and soul-deep exhaustion.

1 looked back at him, but had no answer.

~*~

5 ever-so-gently laid his friend down on the makeshift bed in the corner of the hospice.

"Just hang on, 6. I know we've got a spare voice box here…" He hastily dug through the accumulated mound of wires and rods that 2 kept around, casting a worried glance over his shoulder every few seconds, as if making sure that 6 would not spontaneously evaporate. "Got it!" He held up the small metal item victoriously.

"Shhhhkshhhhx," 6 replied, sitting up and drawing his knees to his chest.

The one-eyed stitchpunk hurried back over to the bed and placed one hand on 6's shoulder. "Okay, 6," his voice shook slightly but he tried to sound calm. "I'm gonna have to…open you up, so I can replace your voice box. I'll try to do it quick, like your arm, okay?"

The artist gave no indication that he understood, but his legs lowered and he glanced up at 5 in stifled pain and consternation. His fingers moved restlessly on the cot, sketching invisible designs.

"Alright." 5 lifted the blade of a scalpel and drew it down the seam of 6's midsection, tiny threads parting and revealing the complex metal innards that still gave off wisps of smoke. The striped being held himself rigid as the larger stitchpunk gingerly pulled the fabric open and ever-so-hesitantly reached in. 5 wasn't quite sure where 6's voice box was; it seemed that none of the stitchpunks had been built quite the same, so he had to gently feel around for the melted component. His fingers slid lightly down a thick rope of wiring, skittered over something round and smooth and warm, brushed a loop of spring and suddenly realized that 6's fingers were wrapped so tightly around his wrist that he couldn't feel his fingertips. The smaller stitchpunk's mouth was flung wide again as he panted, his optics burning into 5's with an intensity that could have lit a fire. Uncomprehending, 5 tried to move his hand and inadvertently bumped the wiring again, making 6 gasp aloud and shudder.

"What's wrong? What did I-" Realization dawned on the older being – 6 wasn't gasping in pain; quite the opposite. Experimentally, 5 flexed his fingers once more, wrapping them around the steel spring. The reaction was immediate; 6 writhed and clutched at him, lost in sensation, then fell back, dazed. Carefully, 5 inserted his other hand, located the smoldering remnants of the voice box and detached it. While his patient was still preoccupied, he swiftly replaced it with the new part. He stepped back a bit and looked down at 6, who was still recovering. "Okay, 6, that should work. Can you, uh, say something?"

6 blinked slowly, seeming to clear his head, and his brow furrowed. "Shhksssssk," he said uncertainly.

"Hmm…" Delicately, 5 reached back inside and adjusted the tuning, careful not to touch anything else. "How 'bout now?"

"Shh sshsss?"

Another adjustment. "Now?" He met 6's gaze as the black and white stitchpunk's mouth opened again, this time clearly enunciating.

"The source."


End file.
